Jon spent what felt like hours with Tobho Mott measuring him and taking the details of all Jon wanted. It wasn't an especially elaborate harness, just blackened plate with dark buckles and straps as well as a dark gray haubrek. Even his shield would be black iron with the reversed Stark heraldry leaving him with a white wolf. It was his sword that required specifics, Barristan realizing he wanted it to be akin to the slender bladed Dark Sister only with a simpler hilt, claiming he wanted it to be quick and able to slip through gaps others might not.
It seemed those among the Stark guard who learned of Jon's patronage through Arya's Needle had taken to visiting Tobho Mott, as did Samwell, who had a mail shirt, gorget and helm made to fit him.
Over the weeks leading to the tourney Jon spent most of his time training. His days were spent waking early to help Barristan prepare for the day and don his armor, often being dismissed to train on his own or with Domeric and Loras, Sam acting as a squire of sorts to Dom and Jon since he wouldn't be riding. Some days he spent astride a horse until dusk came. Jaime didn't come across him in the yard at night, leaving Jon on his own. Other nights, after a day that left him sore, he opted to relax with a book or take another lesson from Domeric.
Ghost spent most of his days at the side of Jon or in the Tower of the Hand where his sisters were free to play with him as they liked. Things had eased somewhat as news arrived that Bran had woken and named his direwolf Summer.
The first time Jon returned to claim Ghost, sore from riding and holding a lance all day, he found Arya shaking her head while Sansa greeted him with a bright smile, her hand resting on Ghost's head. The direwolf looked guilty at the scarf wrapped around his neck and tied in a perfect bow.
"Oh you poor thing," Jon said shaking his head as Ghost stared at him silently.
"He loved it," Sansa said with a snort, turning to rub his head. "He was a perfect gentleman the entire time."
"Are you sure we can't take him out sometimes?" Arya asked with a pout.
"You can come with me when I take him to the Godswood or out of the city sometimes, but otherwise we need to stay with him." Jon reached down to rub Ghost's chin. "I can't risk them trying something if he's alone."
Of course, that didn't mean it never happened. Though he often spent his nights in Jon's room laying beside the bed, there were nights where Ghost never met Jon at the gate after letting him out to hunt. Twice he'd been gone for multiple days, then in the middle of the night Jon woke to scratching at his door and opened it to have Ghost stride past him and lay in his normal spot as if he hadn't been gone.
Yet Jon found himself worrying less about where he was during his missed nights. It seemed at times as if his normal dreams were replaced by ones where he wandered the woods as Ghost. During his longer stays from Jon he found the dreams of Ghost's return tense as he silently weaved through the shadows of buildings to go unnoticed by guards.
A few times Jon had left Ghost at the Tower of the Hand for the night, though the first was after Jon arrived early and made his way to Sansa's chamber. Inside he found Sansa sat beside Ghost, brushing his fur as tears trickled from her eyes.
"Sansa?" He asked in a whisper, making her gasp and look up, wiping her eyes.
"Jon," she shook her head. "It's impolite to barge into a lady's room!"
"Your door was open," he noted.
"Was it?" She blinked, sniffling and shaking her head.
Jon took a knee in front of Sansa. "What's happened?"
"It's nothing."
"Sansa," Jon sighed. "Please, let me be your brother for once."
Sansa stared at him, frowning at the pledging edge to his voice. "I miss Lady."
Jon nodded, sitting cross legged in front of her with Ghost between them. "I'm sorry you had to suffer that, Sansa. I know Ghost is no replacement."
"He's nice though," she assured, smiling at the direwolf as she rubbed behind his ear.
"You can have him as much as you want," Jon said leaning his head slightly to meet her eyes.
"I can?" She asked with a hesitant smile.
"I trust no one else to keep better care of him," Jon said with a smile, "and at least with you I know he'll be as clean as he is safe."
Sansa giggled. Her smile fell as she looked from Ghost to Jon. "You weren't lying, were you?"
"About what?"
With a frown she seemed to hesitate before saying, "The city smells."
Her brokenhearted expression made Jon put on a solemn smile. "Have you been to Myrcella's garden? It smells good there, and there are some other places as well. I can show you some of the better ones if you want."
Sansa looked to him with a nod. "I'd like that."
After that he'd escorted Sansa and Jeyne Poole around the court every so often, showing them little spots he'd found during his time there. The first time they ran into Loras he noticed Sansa perk up slightly while Jeyne looked nervous seeing him approach and greet Jon as a friend.
"Ser Loras, this is my sister, Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole, whose father serves as steward to the Hand."
"It is an honor, ladies," Loras said bowing to the curtsying girls. "I would offer to escort you but you already have such a capable guardian."
Sansa looked to Jon and he held back a laugh as he turned to Loras. "Please, another hand could never hurt. I doubt I know every spot of the keep's beauty."
"You've already found two of it's greatest," Loras said with a nod to the girl, who giggled as he looked to Jon. "If I'm not imposing?" When Jon shook his head Lorad held his arm out for Sansa to take. "Lady Sansa?"
Knowing the truth of Loras made it sting less seeing the hint of jealousy in Jeyne's eye as she took Jon's arm while Sansa walked with Loras. He considered finding a way to tell her it was a fruitless endeavor, but decided to leave it be. Though he hoped to find a way to free Sansa from her betrothal before it was consummated he didn't think it necessary to take away her dream of a knight as decent as Loras.
A time or two Jon had come upon Arya during her lessons with Syrio, though more often he came across her doing some odd task given to her by him as some kind of indirect lesson. She tried to have Jon spar with her, but since he didn't want to disturb her learning he turned her down. Of course the next day when he went to drop off Ghost with them she threw him one of her training swords and attacked him, forcing a quick match. He arrived late to meet the others, leaving Arya grinning at having fought him.
It was after another sudden sparring match with her that Jon handed the swords back and ruffled her hair. "We'll need to get you something to hide this."
Arya looked up confused. "What? Why?"
"I thought you might like to help Sam squire for me and Dom while we ride in the tourney."
Her eyes widened with a gasp. "I can?"
"If you can lift the lances and we can find you some cloths to wear so you don't draw too much attention, why not?" She hugged him for near a minute before releasing him.
It was days before the tourney was to start that Jon made his way to Tobho Mott's shop with Sam and found Ned leaving to mount his horse. Spotting Jon, Ned greeted him with a nod toward the shop. "This is smith you've been giving your patronage?" When Jon nodded, he glanced to the shop before turning back with a smile. "I'll see you tonight at supper."
With a nod Jon watched them leave before he dismounted and left Sam to watch their horses. After trying everything on with some help from one of the shop's staff, Jon carried it all to his horse and secured it to the saddle to bring the bag back to his room.
When he made his way to the Tower of the Hand that night he was once again brought to meet with Ned before they ate. Ned welcomed him with a smile as Jon took a seat across from him. "Jon, how often did you speak to Lord Arryn?"
"Not too often," Jon said surprised by the question. "He would check on how I was doing and we would talk sometimes but he was often busy with other things."
"Did he ever speak to you about anything that seemed odd?" Ned asked carefully.
Jon furrowed his brow and shook his head. "Not that I can think of. We mostly talked about my stay here, you and your time in the Vale, he even told me a few stories about himself."
"Nothing about Robert or his bastards?"
Jon frowned and shook his head. "No. The most he said about Robert was during stories about you and bits of the war."
"Did he ever say anything like 'the seed is strong'?" When Jon shook his head Ned sighed and sat back in his chair. "What of Stannis? Do you have any idea why he would leave before our arrival?"
Jon felt a fool for shaking his head so much. "I spoke to him even less. I tend to stay away from the council if I have a choice."
Ned arched his brow. "Why?"
"If you had a choice would you want to speak with any of them?" Jon asked with a laugh. "A mummer, a charlatan, a procurer, who wouldn't want to befriend them?"
"What do you mean a procurer, charlatan and mummer?"
"You surely know Littlefinger owns brothels. I've seen him enough at court to know he views everyone as a woman to make spread her legs for him. There's no doubt he's one of the few having his people look through my letters."
"You think he reads your letters?"
"Him, Varys, Cersei and others as well."
Ned shook his head. "Why do you think that?"
"I've hidden letters I received over the last few years and left little things as test. Placed them in certain positions that changed when I checked them again, strands of hair left taught that were broken, things like that. I don't think they sneak in themselves, but I've little doubt they have their creatures poking through my floorboards."
Ned frowned, sitting back in thought. "If he's the procurer then who are the others? I take it Varys is the mummer? That makes Pycelle the Charlatan?"
Jon nodded. "He acts a bumbling, tired fool but I've seen him pretend to sleep yet clearly listening to what was being said."
"What of the others? Stannis and Renly?"
"They're surely better than the others, but I don't know either much. Stannis always seemed to himself in a way, set in his ways, focused on what he saw as justice even at the expense of others. You've heard the story of Ser Davos?"
"Who passed the siege of Storm's End?"
"He survived because of Davos smuggling him food, yet felt he still had to take Davos' fingers for it. I can understand the mentality, but Dom pointed out that it just as much speaks to his sense of justice as it tells others the next time Stannis needs help it's better to keep your fingers and let him die."
Ned arched his brow, surprised at the view, though not too surprised it came from a Bolton. "And Renly? I know you're friends with his knight."
"I'm friends with Loras, not Renly," said Jon. "He's been around and seems nice enough, but we don't talk much. He's funny in a way Stannis never was, like Robert can be sometimes. Loras says he doesn't care much for books, and always has a quip about someone in court. I've started to get the sense he looks down on most people, but I couldn't say for sure."
"Are there none on the council you view favorably?" asked Ned.
Jon thought for a moment. "Ser Barristan isn't allowed in the small council meetings and you're Hand, so no."
Ned smiled at his inclusion, relieved to hear his fears being dispelled again. "So I should be wary of them all it seems."
"You should be wary of everyone. The city watch, the kingsguard, they are all in someone's pocket, whether it's Littlefinger's, Varys' or the queen's." Jon looked grim as he sat up. "It's easier to assume everyone knows what you do and anything you say that can be overheard has been."
"It seems I can't trust anyone."
"You can trust me," Jon offered, earning a smile from Ned. "Other than that I can't say. The longer you stay the more I'd be wary of your guard." Seeing Ned's incredulous look he chuckled. "They're men, father." He watched Ned sink back and run fingers through his hair, his brow knit in thought. "Why are asking about this anyway?"
Ned looked to him and after a moment sat up. "I'm looking into Jon Arryn's death. In Winterfell we received a letter from his wife saying the Lannisters had killed him."
Tilting his head Jon said, "They weren't here near a sennight before he died."
"What?" Ned asked wide eyed.
"After losing to him in the last tourney I was squired to Jaime, so I joined them as they left the city to visit Casterly Rock with Lord Tywin. We were gone days before Dom rode to tell us of Lord Arryn's death."
Ned sank back in his chair, shocked and shaken. "Why would she lie?"
"Because she's mad," Jon said simply. He answered Ned's curious look, "She is paranoid and clung to her child as though everyone were trying to steal him from her. He suckled at her teat still last I saw him, and she did little to hide her distaste for everyone but her son and Littlefinger."
Ned's brow sank as he asked, "Littlefinger?"
Jon nodded. "He was her only friend. She was already speaking to him during feasts and gatherings, more so than her own husband at times. It was clear she felt some affection to him. Half the time she looked like the ladies who look upon Loras whenever she saw Littlefinger."
Ned's jaw shifted at the thought of that worm cuckolding the man who raised him. "Did he seem to return her affection?"
"Not that I saw, at least not as much as her. He was friendly and kind, whispering with her, but I saw no stolen kisses or the like. Though he may well be too clever for such an obvious display, I doubt she is."
Ned tapped his desk in thought before whispering to himself, "It was him who suggested Tyrion, wasn't it?"
"What of Tyrion?" Jon asked overhearing the name.
Looking to him, Ned decided best to be open. "On the day we returned Lord Baelish brought me to one of his brothels where he'd hidden away Catelyn. She showed me the dagger and told us how he'd lost it in a bet with Tyrion during the tourney you participated in."
Jon shook his head. "That's a lie. He lost it to Robert."
Ned tilted his head. "How do you know?"
"Loras told us Renly wished he'd taken the bet since Robert won a valyrian steel dagger from him. Renly always bets on Loras, much as Tyrion's said he always bets on Jaime."
Ned's face darkened with a mix of anger and confusion. "What is he playing at with all these lies?"
"I couldn't say." Jon sighed. "I only know that it's clear he looks at this as a game. Aemon told me they play the game of thrones, no doubt he sees himself as a player. His lies may be how he plays."
Ned nodded, rising to walk around the table as Jon took the cue to stand. "Thank you, Jon. You've given me much to think on."
"Of course, father. If you need help you need only ask. Even Dom and Sam would likely help if asked."
Ned squeezed his shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."
The day before the tourney Jon gave himself a break from training and joined Barristan on his shifts again. They found Jaime speaking with Myrcella outside of her garden when she perked up and waved to them, making her uncle turn to them, his smile fading when he saw Jon.
"Lord Commander. Snow." He motioned to his the princess with a smirk. "The princess is yours."
Jon found the flicker of humor in his eyes as he said that and looked to Jon a relief. He'd yet to find Jon and spar with him since he left Winterfell, so Jon worried it was guilt that kept him away. Part of him also worried he'd grown tired of Jon's company during their time on the kingsroad. Either way he didn't like that Jaime had seemed to keep his distance.
Once he departed, Myrcella went around watering her plants and checking them all before making her way back to her chambers. She invited them inside and hurried over to her wardrobe where she revealed a crimson kerchief with emerald embroidery and flecks of yellow. Holding it out for Jon she smiled as Barristan looked away in an attempt to give them some semblance of privacy.
"Would my knight wear my favor?" She looked it over when he nodded. "I decided to avoid Baratheon colors so they wouldn't know it is mine."
Jon watched her wrap it around his right bicep to make sure it was long enough. Seeing only the red and green, Jon chuckled. "If nothing else I could say it's a favor from Sam and House Tarly."
Myrcella giggled. "Only if you must." Looking it over she stepped back and smiled. "Are you prepared?"
"As prepared as I can be. Ser Barristan helped me purchase a fine set of armor and arms and Ser Domeric helped me find a well bred courser to replace the aging horse gifted to me when I left Winterfell."
"Do you think you'll do well?" Myrcella asked, concern evident in her voice.
"I've no doubt Jon will surprise us all," Barristan said with a proud smile. "I'm sure your favor will be well worn."
"Good," Myrcella said with a smirk as she looked to Jon, "I expect a song to bring tears to the eyes of all who hear it."
Barristan arched his brow as Jon sighed. "The only one to hear it would be you, princess."
"And if I demanded otherwise?" she asked playfully.
"Then you would be breaking out deal," Jon challenged.
"Nothing of our deal spoke to who would hear it, only that you would play a song for me on your harp."
"If all that's required is for me to play it, then perhaps you need not hear it either."
Myrcella gasped. "No!"
Jon chuckled. "I'll play where I can, but not before a gathered crowd."
Looking to her favor she said, "I hope you win."
Jon saw her smile and nodded. "So do I."